Coma II
by Yoshiyuki Ly
Summary: An odd Thanksgiving piece. Giving of love, no matter how obsessed.


**Disclaimer.** I don't own Harry Potter. This is the strangest "holiday" piece I've ever written. Supposedly for Thanksgiving, but not really. _Pre-established_ relationship between the pair.  
**Rating.** NC-17; NSFW. If dick offends you, please leave. Questionable permission is involved; NOT nonconsensual. If you only want sex and not plot, ctrl f: _"If I'm misunderstanding or overestimating her desire for me..."_

_Coma II - Eicca Toppinen; much more sensual than the first; hits the spots the first one can't. So much more than reality now. The first one is fantasy, not quite enough. This one is personal._

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_(Hermione)_

_I remember that night you said you'd only scare me if you showed me all the ways you love me. I remember thinking the same thing, with a different perspective: my own, my truth. I know for a fact what you're afraid of, Fleur. I'm not afraid of the extreme ways you love me; all the affections you want to give, nor the intensity of your feelings for me. There's a reason why I grow quiet sometimes. A reason why I don't always say what's on my mind. I don't mind you scaring me-it's always a pleasant surprise when you do. When it happens, it only reinforces what I feel for you, because I still feel in the right place. _

_When I scare you with the truth of my feelings, you get hurt and run away from me. What's ironic is that you think there are no feelings there; that they're switched off when I'm a certain way. _

_That can't be any further from the truth._

Fleur parks the car in a happy hurry in the parking lot of the cinema. It's a cold November night; I'm wary about leaving the comfort of her heated car to walk all the way inside. I'm thinking about this and a myriad of other things, while also paying full attention to her as she complains about having to wait until the latest showing. We were both busy all day, still managing to keep in touch to make sure our date was still on for tonight. I had a bad feeling all day today.

It never felt like we _needed _to be busy today. At the same time, we...needed to...for the sake of keeping busy and maintaining a semblance of a life away from each other. Was that really necessary?

"Hermione, love," she says, beaming as she adjusts her scarf; "What's the matter? You're quiet again." I frown a little-she always says that a certain way. Understanding, yet concerned. I look up to the street lamp nearby, narrowing my eyes at the direct light. "Baby?"

Dust specs and frost specs and something that looks like snowflakes almost emanate from the lamp. I listen to her putting on her gloves, sniffling, breathing; orchestrating the silence between us, the cold between us with such natural actions. Everything around us couldn't be helped: the cold, the frost forming on the windshield, the people outside making their way to the building. I'm completely aware of everything around me. Why is it that I can only think about holding her hand?

I hold it _without_ thinking, thumbing the suede of her glove. Her hand is warm, soft...it fits just right in mine, and I take an emotional picture in my mind of how _right _this feels. "I was thinking," I finally say, "about the next season coming out, you know of my favorite show. The one with all the lights, and the cold. The vastness."

"That one?" she asks, turning her nose up before laughing. "I can't believe you still want to watch it! It's nothing like you say it is! I can't stand the people in it. How can you like it so much?"

At first, I take her opinion into consideration. I even laugh with her a little. But as I keep listening to her, I see a different perspective. This happens so seamlessly whenever I listen to others. Her words feel like criticism. Criticism of something I appreciate, something I cherish and have cherished for years. I bring this up, feeling a dull numbness inside of me because I've anticipated her response:

"...but you haven't even seen it yet. How do you know you'll even like it?" Also anticipated, after a long, selfish pause: "You always say my favorite show is terrible...you're always saying how much you don't like it..."

I make the mistake of giving her intellect instead of emotion in my responses. She always pulls away from me when I do this because my tone is different; she thinks I'm taking my love away when I do this. I'm detached in my tone while trying to argue my point, forever convinced we're having light banter about the topic, only to remember how much pain she must be in. I don't remember when she let go of my hand. I do remember how obvious it was, her turning the conversation around and making it about her. Never mind how hurt I am over her criticism. I don't think I am anymore, not if she wants to talk about what I do wrong. I don't mind.

Fleur gets very quiet this time. I know she's angry. She gets quiet when she's angry. She won't respond when I ask her what's wrong. At this rate, we'll have missed the last showing of the film she's wanted to see for a while now. This could have been avoided if I kept my mouth shut before; pretended like I had nothing on my mind at all and walked with her arm in arm to the cinema. I can never shut up when something's pressing on my thoughts. I used to hold everything in before. I know she did as well. Now we finally don't feel the need to do that, and look where it gets us.

Her silence starts to annoy me. I keep asking her what's wrong, letting her know I care, and she won't even look at me. Is she ignoring me? Does she _like_ making me feel stupid? I feel pins and needles in my legs from the cold-the cold of her silence. I don't think when I suddenly jerk my legs up to stop the feeling; my knees hit the bottom of the dashboard-_hard_-startling her right as I demand to know: "Am I talking to myself? Am I speaking to a wall? Am I talking to no one?"

"...no," she says, trying not to sound demure; trying not to sound unsure.

I get out the car, into the sudden freeze of night. I keep the door open to once again ask what's wrong, only for her to not answer me. She goes back to being angry, giving me a few brisk responses every so often. It incenses me that she chooses now to be detached and unconcerned; now that I'm trying to show her I care. I get angry with myself for doing a poor job at this. Her reponses get shorter and shorter. I've unsettled her by shouting the way I didn't mean to a few minutes ago.

It's always the things I don't mean to do that make her think she means nothing to me.

So she tries to put up defenses...I crush all of that with a few honest words, without meaning to: "You sound like your mother." Her mother, in all her emotional barriers and detachment for the sake of appearances. I'm afraid of Fleur growing to be like that with me...

Fleur doesn't waste time in reaching over to shut the door; driving off and leaving me here after nearly running my feet over in her haste to get away from me.

I scowl and sigh, completely irritated with myself. I even laugh, because for how well I know her, I didn't think she'd leave me here like this. It hurts her terribly whenever I leave, even when she's done something to upset me beforehand. It's okay for her to do it to me, though, because my pain must not _ever_ be able to measure up to hers...

My pain is all over. My intellect is broken. My heart's gone away. Feeling empty and worthless makes me want to end my life itself if it will save her any more pain down the line. That's _not_ what I should be thinking! Fleur would be devastated to find out something happened to me. No matter how noble my reasons for suicide might be, in the end it will only make things worse. I know her. She'd feel terrible we'd been arguing and she didn't get to say goodbye to me, no matter the circumstances. No. I have to be strong enough to get through this.

I sigh again when I look around-there's nowhere to safely Disapparate back home. Wouldn't Fleur have gone straight home? She kept saying she was tired and needed to be alone just now. She wouldn't want me there with her if she's gone and left me like this.

I search my pockets for my mobile, ambling along to find warmth in the cinema while I think of whom to call. Harry and Ginny won't have room for me to stay the night at such short notice. The only other person I know who would not only come pick me up and let me crash for the night is Ron. He's always telling me he'll be there for me; anything I needed, even with Fleur in the picture instead of him. I didn't like remembering that; relying on that. I figure a lone exception can't hurt, so I call him just as I make it inside. I could use a shoulder to lean on at the very least. He's a strange sort of constant in my life. Realizing that now makes me feel a little less guilty about phoning him.

Ron doesn't pick up. I send him a message instead, asking if he's around; aimlessly walking to an unused corner of the building. I'm aware of all the couples around me. The general mass of noise in the building starts to annoy me as I wait for his response. He surprises me by responding within five minutes, but he doesn't return my call. From the sound of it, he's happy about something. I ask him if he's too busy to call me now.

He calls straightaway.

"Ron?" I ask; something doesn't feel right.

_"Hey! Hermione, how ya been?" _I don't say anything; he continues on, as if I did respond: _"The past couple of days've been great, actually! ...but it's none of your business, you know. You don't wanna know what's been goin' on, so don't worry about it."_

That offends me for some reason. "None of my business...? Since when on earth is something none of my business?" I don't say this to sound as if I'm entitled to know every detail of his affairs. He sounds off, that's all. "Are you well? Does this have something to do with that girl you told me about?"

_"Yeah..." _The trail his sentence leaves: it leaves me confused. The foliage is apt for autumn, perhaps. _"But don't worry about her, alright? It's just none of your business, okay? I don't have to tell you everything that's goin' on in my life!"_

I've had a feeling he's been blowing me off instead of blowing up my phone lately. I don't go out of my way to speak with him, considering he's not over me at all and I have Fleur now. He's trying to make it seem like I'm nothing now, that I'm insignificant, in an effort to move on. While I appreciate his valiant efforts, I see little to no morality in the vibes I'm receiving from him. I know nothing of this girl except she has an uncanny likeness to me, though she's nowhere near my level. Ron and I had always had equality issues-not being on the same level. I'm glad he's found someone he could relate to.

I am very put-off by his self-righteous tone. How he'd called me in a flash, and now he's doing all he can to shine the spotlight on this happiness he's found with this girl-only he's determined to be all hush-hush about her?

"Honestly!" Ron's dancing around the subject of this girl whose name I don't even know is irritating me to no end; "You're choosing now to blow me off? I need a ride, or someplace to stay, or at least a ride to a hotel because of all the Muggles around! I know you're happy with her and she's swept _you _off your feet, but if you want me to comment on your newfound happiness then kindly say so!"

He keeps dancing. My blood pressure rises. I'm embarrassed that I thought I could rely on him. Now he's telling me he can't be around for me anymore; asking in that angling tone if I expect him to still be around after this. He thinks this girl is so great because of all the lies she's planted in his head to seduce him, no doubt. After years of hearing him promise he'll always be there for me, I have to listen to his half-hearted happy tone as he breaks those promises. Because he's gone back on his word, for once, and that's okay. He's covering up the real problem-how he can't deal with Fleur and me being together. So he let someone come to him while he was vulnerable, and now he's taking our friendship away in an effort to move on.

I start to cry, not caring how much longer this corner remains unused. From the way he sounds, that girl must make him think I've only used him. He's trying to not sound like he cares about me being stranded here so late at night. I abhor the both of them right now for holding such horrible views of me when I've done nothing wrong! If trying to appreciate the constant in my life while protecting him from hearing about my relationship was wrong, then I'll allow our friendship to be broken! Allow, allow...there's nothing I can do.

I hang up on him. He knows I encouraged him to have a relationship with her, to move on from me. But to begin a relationship with the foundation of Hermione, the evil ex who wronged him...that cleaves my pride and yet it stays standing, somehow severed. I feel powerless. I can't change their views. It's quite immature of them, really, to do such a thing...

This is my fault. I brought it upon myself. I should have let Ron continue to ignore me, let him feel haughty in his supposed dismissal of me. I shouldn't have called him. I shouldn't have done what I wish people would do with me and showed all of my emotions when I couldn't take it anymore. Now he knows I'm upset and that he's gotten to me. I find some solace in the fact that he doesn't know _why _I'm upset. He wouldn't dare think it's because I'm not over him...but I was wrong about him not ten minutes ago.

I'm sobbing, trying to hide my face behind my mobile as I wrack my brain to figure out whom to call this time. Not for a ride home or a place to stay the night...just someone to speak to, to calm me down. I'm starting to lose it from two incidents in a row and I _can't_ pretend I'm okay this time.

Fleur is supposed to be the first one I go to when something's wrong. I send her a message asking her to please come back, hoping she'll come and be willing to work things out after seeing how upset I am. It's no use for us to be upset... She'll see this, know I want to make things better, and we'll be okay again. Look, she's even responded straightaway. So she's safe, she's-

_You're heartless_

I fall to my knees, sobbing even harder. And no one is around to care. The movies have all started by now.

.

I finally make it home a few hours later. After a long conversation with a familiar stranger on the knight bus, I can think clearly. Fleur isn't downstairs when I arrive. She left no lights on for me, no food out, no heater on. I have a feeling she's in bed, still upset or trying not to be. I go to her immediately, stumbling around in the cold dark as I do. My face feels dry and cracked and pale from crying too much earlier. She won't respond well if I'm all broken up and emotional. Her needs take priority over mine. I have to put her first. If I try to be selfish right now, we won't get anywhere. I'm afraid of all the possible scenarios in my mind for when I reach our bedroom. Even if I'm scared, she takes precedence over my fears. I can't just run away from her because I think I don't know what to do. I can't do that anymore.

There are no lights on upstairs. In the bedroom, I can see her beneath the duvet, beneath the moonlight coming in from the window just behind our bed. Not a sound. She's not tossing and turning, so she must be awake. Very still. I feel as though I've walked into the queen's chambers, awaiting her sentence.

I stand at the foot of the bed for a long while, watching her watch me in this pitch dark. The darkness becomes blue the longer I watch her; a reflection of her eyes so cold just now. I feel the vagueness of her every emotion, how she's being pulled this way and that, managing to stay so still. The emotions that do decide to be intense for her intrigue me. I wish I could bite into them: the slenderness of her neck and shoulders. Vagueness is vague, because I wonder if she can decide how to feel, feeling vestiges of possibilities and trying to get rid of them. Her form under the duvet isn't warm at all. Not without me. She won't admit that. Her refusal to admit it even by beckoning me over to her...it sears the forefront of my mind, branding a white-hot realization there. Fleur can refuse me all she wants with her words-even go so far as to push me away. Deep down, she still needs me. _I need her_, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered returning home to her.

I need that refusal. To break that refusal down, and dignify myself; that she still wants me, no matter her state. I want to keep breaking her down, to get to that loving core she possesses. I don't know what to do without it. I can't live with her always being like this; I wish I could control it so that she never got this way. It's why I made that comment about her mother, because the signs are there. I won't be able to stand it if she thinks she can never open up to me again about anything. If she loses faith in me, all because of continuous misunderstandings...

If I'm misunderstanding or overestimating her desire for me, I'll gladly suffer the punishment. After I'm finished with her.

"You made it home safely," I finally point out, making my way to the nightstand. The bottom drawer has what I need. "That's good. I'm relieved nothing happened to you on the way back, baby. I wouldn't be able to _live _with myself, if anything ever happened to you..." The stress, she understands, she doesn't. I keep talking to cover up the sounds of me opening the drawer with one hand; removing my shoe with the other. I had to have some kind of excuse to be down on my knees like this. "You always think I'm being ridiculous when I'm upset about something. You always tell me to not cry, because then _you'll _feel horrible. It's never a big deal to you when I'm upset these days. You've made a sport out of turning the attention back to you."

One of the magical strap-ons isn't here. I take the one designated for me to use. Hers isn't in here. "Isn't that why I left Ron in the first place?" I go on-a perfect transition to my mystification; "Because I never felt like he paid enough attention to my needs, whether he was upset or not... His selfishness hurt me, drove me away. Made me feel like _I_ didn't matter enough to him...as long as he felt nice with me, everything was supposed to be fine." Is she wearing hers? I don't know. I hope so... I hear her breaths pick up as I take off my clothes. "Oh, Fleur...but when you do that to me... My injustice alarms don't go off." The whisper of the last of my clothes falling from me gets her breathing harder. I look at her, as I strap it on. No point hiding it from her now. "My acquiescent nature to you soars, grows, _burns..._"

I stand, remove the duvet from over her. She's wearing hers. I don't dare linger on it for longer than I need to. She's still angry; she won't speak. I get on all fours over the satin sheets, feeling so feline as I crawl over to her. Feline, because of the feeling in my joints and limbs: an insatiable urge to love her in this injustice. I don't dare admire her body, or even spend too much time moving over to her. I already have too much nerve to be doing this at such a time.

The one thing I hate, that I perceive from her...she's the only exception to this rule. No one has ever been an exception to this. Anyone else will say we don't hold the same values, the same morals. _I _say that all the suffering I went through in my previous relationships prepared me for this. To see a crime being done and to respond to it in such a way as this.

_To still want to love you, no matter what you do to me, no matter how you're behaving._

Her reactions to me are genuine and real, even if she won't show them. I _feel _them, just as I feel her underneath me now-a breath away from her, not touching, not meeting yet. Her gorgeous body glows in the moonlight, shining in all of her vulnerability toward me. Fleur's trying to be angry. She can't risk pushing me away-then she'll have to touch me.

"Hermione," she warns; I move down to nibble on her ear anyway. Her inaudible gasp is audible enough. This is the _only _way I'm touching her. "I don't..." I pretend I'm sucking in between her legs. "Don't...you shouldn't be-no..." Powerless, Fleur...so powerless. Not quite the way I felt earlier-how I feel all the time with you-but it's close enough. _You can take it_; the way I'm treating your ear and avoiding your arches tells you so.

"Fleur," I moan, right in her soaked ear. I love the protests from the sheets as she tries to keep from squirming; meaning I hear their hisses beneath what she _is _moving. "I thought we already discussed...what _no _means." She mumbles something about being upset with me. How I want to break her down, down to her very core again. I need it _now. _"No means yes and yes means _harder. _Stop doesn't mean stop..."

I know she wants to push me away. Some part of her does. I skip kissing her anywhere, and go down to where she'll have the most power over me. I don't want her to be uncomfortable. It's possible I'm getting ahead of myself with this. I give her head, sucking hard. I don't need to direct her hands to my head-she does it on her own, slowly, with an inertia that seizes me as she digs her nails into my scalp. I grab her thighs to ground me; motion is sudden, one that isn't my own, and it's more than I can take but I take it anyway. _She _is down my throat, fucking it, precisely because I never let anyone do this to me before her. Oxygen is cut off over and over and over and over and over and over, so quick, quick, quicker, quickest; she fills my mouth, my throat with her length, with that skin, with that hard, pulsing leanness; oh I feel the disregard in her hands in her arms, how much she's loving this. Punishing me when _I _moved my own head down here and asked for this. I know she can't get enough of these wet sounds coming from me, reminding her of how much she's filling me. Her pleasure through my submission gets me so hard.

I don't want her to get off in my mouth. An overwhelming need to _hear _her makes me grab her wrists, trying to stop her fucking. It's a power-struggle; I already can't think; lack of oxygen; I want to pass out. The memory of her submission to me keeps me awake, strong enough to resist her. I don't bite down. I don't want to hurt her. Fleur lets out a guttural groan, annoyed with me. I make her stop.

Her thighs, I lick, I kiss, to make up for my nails digging in them moments ago. I take this softer thickness in my mouth when I kiss it, wholly...holy. I bite softly, finding the skin to be as tender as I remember. Fleur's pulling at my head again and I don't know why. The pulling feels angry. Like she doesn't want to let go. I keep treating her thighs, treating right between her, at her soaked center, closing my eyes whenever I feel her length against my face. It moves on its own in her arousal. I've been ignoring mine for long enough-it aches, it burns in its growth, it's tender and sensitive but I still need to thrust hard into her to satisfy the ache. Not the ache in this strap-on.

I dare to kiss her all over; every inch of her. Every curve, every part, _everything_. And I whisper to her, hoping my words safely ride the current of the emotions seeping through her pores. My lips worshipping her like this happens regardless of whether we're in an argument or not. Nothing makes this want go away; this will never get old. I hold her tight, I grip her just hard enough. The smoothness and scent of her skin, her sex, her sensuality...

_Absolutely beautiful...I can't apologize for my tears making this trail along your body, baby. I'm still sorry. Everything about you heats me to temperatures I can't measure. The fire for you in my heart alone is what reminds me I'm still alive. I have you, and I will never, never let you go. Even if you push me away...as long as you love me, I can't stop. _

_Please... _

"I need you so badly," I hiss in her ear, holding her through her writhes and arches. Her movements map onto me and I can't keep from moving my hand down. "Need to be inside of you... I need that connection, that heat, that _gravity_. Pull me in and keep me trapped, just as you do now... I need to memorize every inch of you with every inch of me. And I will lock you in this union with me for as long as it takes...even though I never want to leave."

Those softer sounds from her I can't resist: I hear them, they drive me mad, wild with passionate unrest and my heart starts to claw at my chest because I _need her_. Oh and she still tries to tell me no...that sets me off; I rip right into her, holding onto her, keeping her together in my arms even through our pain. I suck in a breath now that I'm inside, as if I was drowning before; Fleur claws at my back with her nails, paying me back, she can't help it, I can't help it, I thrust into her with more and more that I am every time because I need this, need this, need her, need her, love her, love her, love her, love her, love her, love her, love her, love her; over and over and over and over-_harder!_

Her body shudders and shifts suddenly back and forth with my movements, mirroring. The sheen from our sweat in this moonlight is the shine of that mirror; two, one. Her core, her core, it pulls me in with her heat, her everything and I need to keep thrusting, need to keep loving. I hold her around her back, with a hand on her hip to keep myself steady; steadily going mad inside of her from the slick heat drugging me, keeping me going. Fleur doesn't mean it when she whimpers that I'm raping her. She can't mean it. She wants this. She _knows _that turns me on, her mindless submission, because she's given into me. And I can love her fully and completely this way, never bringing harm to her in this obsessed state I'm in.

I am an extension of her in this state. Whatever she wants, I exist to give that to her. To please her. Deeply. Harder, faster, whatever her sounds and breathing dictate, I know only to follow. I need her closer, I touch her, grab her everywhere, but it's never enough and I keep getting pulled into her core, her loving, dripping, throbbing core and I need more I need more; insatiable; I need her body I need the closest thing to her soul I can get so I kiss her mouth, I slip into her soul, I revel in the undulations beneath me, of her mouth being unable to stay in one place so I have to follow it, tongue and all, staying deep, just as I am inside of her. If I could fall into her and be one right now, I'd do it and never go back. If I could only exist to serve her, to venerate her, to worship in this way by giving and giving, never complaining when she wants something; to find pleasure in pleasing her with a complete disregard for my own needs...

Because I need her to need me, _all the time. _I never want this to stop. Her sounds are too beautiful, so soft, so feminine, so _Fleur. _Never have I ever heard an orgasm so sweet, so precious, even if she is angry with me for doing this to her. Even if she puts up a fight, physical or otherwise, I can't resist her. I always need to love her. I can only hold it back when appearances or the situation calls for it. We can't have it right now, or we're apart...not having her kills me inside and I'm too stubborn to show it.

The sensuality, the irresistible wiles she possesses...the way she grips me around my neck, pulling me into her more and more; gripping me, needing me, crying for me and calling my name is a sound to my ears I can't live without. It makes me cry, saline joining sweat between us, and I shift my momentum inside of her: direct, constant, deep, but shallow enough to not suffocate her as she rides out those last waves in my arms. And her breaths, her whines, her whimpers-everything, for me...

Everything about her rides my currents, torrential or not. Through the thunderstorms and tsunamis of my emotions and complexities, Fleur is always welcome to find her way to me. When she is lost, it's up to me to love her through it. That is what I love, that is what I need. That is sensuality in its highest form: an art I can't resist.

_I love you to death, to the death of art; I do everything in my power to keep that possibility from dying._


End file.
